Know your character. Ground yourself in all of their personas, protagonist and antagonist alike and all minor characters, no matter how unlikable. Write first-person character sketches, letting your characters tell you who they are. How do you get to know real people? By spending time with them. The more time you spend with them, the better you get to know them, and soon you can hardly remember when you didn't know them. If you absolutely can't slip inside of any one of your characters, fire him and get a new one to take his place.
Create one scene in your story that includes all of your characters. Now write that scene from each character's point of view, one at a time. Focus on dialogue as the main way of recording the event. If it's impossible to put all the characters in one scene (maybe they lived at different times), then have the odd character reflect back on or project forward to the same scene the others experienced. What you want to do is create the same event for everyone, but show how they all experience it differently. Let each of them tell you about the event in his or her own words. This may include slang, dialect, or certain words or phrases that the other characters would never think to use.
When you reread these scenes, do your characters all sound alike? Have you created your character charts? If not, do that right away. If so, pull out some of the external or internal traits and feed them into the dialogue of the characters that sound alike. This will accomplish what I mentioned earlier in the chapter—the other parts of your characters' lives are different, and they can bring some of that difference into their dialogue. If you have to do this more than once to achieve your goal—write a scene from everyone's viewpoint—then do it as many times as it takes to really get to know these people.
What if my characters don't sound like my reader expects them to?
This problem is easily fixed if you get your characters talking right away, like I suggested earlier. But for practice consider the following:
You've portrayed a character as a Harvard-educated woman. A physicist with two kids, recently divorced, out to lunch with friends, she's complaining about her boss. Suddenly she says, "Well, give me a two-by-four and I'll show him that I'm no ninny" or some such uneducated line.
You're appalled. Where did that come from? Clearly, from somewhere inside of you that at one time had an abusive boss or husband or father or whatever. Okay, so it's not what this character would normally say. A lot of writing fiction is about working through our unresolved issues. Sometimes we need to follow and sometimes we need to reign that character in. Part of being a writer is knowing when to do what. Anyway, you're going to have to get this character off that subject, and work it out in another book, maybe non-fiction, or you're going to just let her go for it and clean it up later. Getting back to your Harvard-educated character—in this case, reign her back in. Rewrite just that one line so it sounds like an intelligent complaint about the boss. Maybe something like, "He seems to think that if we aren't all working twelve-hour days, as he does, that we're not committed to the company. I suppose I'll need to address this in our next staff meeting." You get the idea.
What if my dialogue sounds flat and boring and doesn't do anything to move the story forward?
As for flat and boring, well, maybe your character needs to get a life. But, yes, it is absolutely necessary that every scene of dialogue move the story forward, and so yes, you need to do something about this. If you recognize that you write the kind of dialogue that doesn't keep the plot moving, then you're already ahead of a lot of writers that who are completely unaware that they're writing rambling dialogue, most of which does nothing to move the overall story.
Find a dialogue scene in a story you're writing that you doubt does much to move your story forward. It gives some background on the characters and it reveals a bit of who they are, but you know that's not enough. Every scene needs to keep the story moving. Now rewrite that scene with one thing in mind — how you can make the dialogue do triple duty: characterize, provide background, and forward the plot. And while you're doing that, keep it lively and full of tension. Not too big of an order, is it?
What if my dialogue sounds stilted and formal and the reader can tell I'm trying to write dialogue rather than just letting my characters talk?
As I mentioned earlier, the key to releasing this fear is to simply relax and not try so hard. You've heard the old advice about how if you try really hard not to think about a banana, guess what you find yourself thinking about. The same is true when it comes to dialogue—the harder you try not to write bad dialogue, the more bad dialogue you write. By bad, I mostly mean dialogue that comes across as less than authentic for the character speaking it. The following exercise is designed to help you focus on relaxing when your characters start talking.
Take what you consider a stilted scene of dialogue from a story you're writing or have written and rewrite it, focusing not on what the characters are saying but on relaxing while you're writing. Decide that it really doesn't matter how your characters sound or what they say—you can fix it later. This could, of course, cause you to plug into one of your other fears—that of your characters sounding stupid. But what we're doing in these exercises is isolating just one of your fears at a time so you can release it and write better.
What if I don't put in enough narrative or action and the reader can't follow the dialogue? Worse yet, what if I put in too much and slow the dialogue way down?
When is enough enough — of anything? You go by feel. If you don't think you know
What if I let my characters start talking and they run away with the scene?
What we often don't understand about our characters is that they're an extension of us, and so if they're saying something we didn't expect or, didn't plan for them to say, we shouldn't try to repress them. We can release this particular fear by letting our characters express their true selves without censoring them. The important thing is to keep writing. There's always the second draft. And the third. We can later fix the dialogue of those characters who might embarrass us in front of our family and friends with dialogue that's too close to the bone, too vulnerable, too out-there.
Take an out-of-control character from a current story you're writing or develop a new one for a story you'd like to write and create a scene for him that has no boundaries. By boundaries I mean your plan for him. Let him go. Let him say whatever he wants to say— to himself or the other characters. Don't try to put words in his mouth and don't try to stop him from saying what he wants to say. Follow him. This could lead you to a completely new story idea, one that's deeper and closer to the "truth." Allowing our characters to be who they are will eliminate our fear of their running away with the scene or—God forbid—the story itself. It's not the end of the world (pay attention to how often I say this in this chapter) to be spontaneous and write the story that emerges with the character. Not only is it not the end of the world, but it indicates your growth as a writer.
enough to go by feel, don't worry about it, you will soon enough. The more you do this, the easier it becomes.
Create a scene of bare dialogue with no action, narrative, or identifying tags. When you're finished, go back through the scene and insert bits of narrative and action here and there to expand the scene and create a narrative flow. Be conscious of how much you're putting in. Is it bogging down? Is it just enough? Do you still need more to bring the reader on board with your character's intentions in the scene? When you do what depends on the needs of the story. There are no hard and fast rules.
[ the genre, mainstream, and literary story— the dialogue matters ]
Let's see, I have to get Homer from Point A to Point B by Tuesday afternoon and along the way he has to talk to Amos to see where they stashed the loot. The loot has to be moved by Tuesday evening, so we don't have much time here.
These are Mr. Writer's thoughts as he sits down to write the next scene in his novel.
I'll have him run into Amos in the 7-11. He starts to write:
"So, Amos, hey, man, how's it
goin'?" Homer picked up a carton of milk and threw it into his basket. Amos didn't immediately answer, so Homer said, "So do you use Joy or Dove? Let's see, I think I'll get me some cashews for my long evening at home tonight."
"What are you doing tonight?" Amos asked.
"Watching the game, of course. Aren't you?"
"Not sure." Amos grunted. "I met this girl. I might go over to her place. She's pretty nice."
WHO CARES?
Going back to the loot for a moment—we know this is an action/adventure or suspense thriller, so no one cares about the cashews, the game, or Amos's girl. We care about the loot and how they're going to get it moved in time and how Homer is going to get from Point A to Point B.
This chapter is about voice and making sure our voice fits the kind of story we're writing.
Every writer has a unique voice, and nowhere does this show up more than in our story dialogue because whether we want to admit it or not, and no matter how much we think we're beyond this, some part of us is in all of the dialogue we write. If I've had an unresolved fight with my partner in the
morning and sit down to write a scene of dialogue in the afternoon, guess what? Suddenly my characters are fighting away.
You've heard writers say that the characters just "ran away with the scene." Well, it doesn't work quite like that. They "run away" because we have some unresolved issues and our characters decide to play these out as we write. I always have to laugh when writers decide to "fictionalize" a true story, believing they're actually hiding the truth from readers. It's like an elephant sticking his head under the bed, thinking no one can see him.
Just like every writer has a voice, so does every story. This is one reason the publishing world has categorized all of our stories for us. The three major categories of story are genre, mainstream, and literary. The genre category includes a few subcategories: fantasy, science fiction, mystery, horror, action/adventure, suspense, thriller, romance, and young adult. These are self-explanatory, but new writers often ask about the difference between mainstream and literary stories.
Mainstream stories are contemporary stories intended for the general public rather than a specific audience. This type of story challenges the reader's belief system, suggests a new life vision, asks provocative questions, provokes introspection, and/or shakes up conventional rules.
Literary stories are avant-garde and experimental stories that incorporate unconventional and nontraditional writing style and techniques. They're often weak on plot and strong on characterization.
With the above in mind, it's only smart marketing sense to get on board and find out where our writing fits and what our category is. Once we do this, we can begin to understand what readers expect from our stories and, more specifically, from our dialogue in that kind of story. As a writing coach, I work with many new fiction writers, and it's clear to me that many of them don't "get" that different kinds of stories call for different kinds of characters, tension, pacing, themes, and dialogue. A fast-paced action adventure needs fast-paced dialogue in every scene to keep the story moving quickly forward. Likewise, a literary story needs the dialogue to match the pace of the other elements in the story—it needs to move more slowly.
Readers pick up certain kinds of stories for specific reasons. Some readers want a magical ride, while others want a scary ride with a lot of unexpected twists and turns. Some read fiction because, and maybe this is on an unconscious level, they want to learn something about themselves. Some just want to kick back and read about someone else's problems for a
change. If we don't understand what our readers want, we won't be able to write stories that deeply satisfy readers in our chosen genre. Our characters' dialogue should match the rhythm of the story in every way possible. This chapter is about taking a look at all of the types of stories and the different voices we, as writers, adopt in order to tell these stories.
At the risk of being formulaic, I've put the types of stories into seven categories to help us better understand readers' expectations of our stories and especially the dialogue we create for our characters: magical, cryptic, descriptive, shadowy, breathless, provocative, and uncensored.
magical
The language of The Hobbit, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz appeals to readers who are looking for the magical. "May the Force be with you" would sound ridiculous in a mainstream or literary novel. Real people just don't talk like that. Readers of mainstream and literary stories know what's real and what isn't.
When writing mainstream and literary stories, we have to go with what is real. Science fiction and fantasy writers can write about what isn't real, but it's not as easy as it sounds. Some of us have the ability to write magical dialogue, and some of us don't. Magical dialogue sounds truly authentic coming from an author like J.R.R. Tolkien. But can you imagine Holden Caulfield telling his sister, "May the Force be with you"? If he had even hinted at it, J.D. Salinger would not be the famous author he is today.
Science fiction and fantasy aren't the only genres where magical dialogue shows up. A good romance writer can also pull it off. Magical dialogue has a lyrical rhythm to it, and fantasy, science fiction, and romance authors should practice until they can write it and write it well. Sometimes magical dialogue seems inherent in writers of these genres—sometimes they even talk in magical dialogue in their everyday conversations.
I don't. I know that about myself. Part of writing dialogue for our stories is knowing who we are and where we fit as storytellers. Do you know if you're a fantasy, science fiction, or romance writer? Have you ever thought about it?
Let's take a look at some of J.R.R. Tolkien's dialogue in The Lord of the Rings and see exactly what we're talking about. Do you see yourself at all?
A dozen hobbits, led by Sam, leaped forward with a cry and flung the villain to the ground. Sam drew his sword.
"No, Sam!" said Frodo. "Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against. He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it."
Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. "You have grown, Halfling," he said. "Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell."
He walked away, and the hobbits made a lane for him to pass; but their knuckles whitened as they gripped on their weapons. Wormtongue hesitated, and then followed his master.
What makes this scene of dialogue work? What distinguishes it as magical?
It's certainly dramatic. For starters, take the phrase, flung the villain to the ground in the first paragraph. It's not dialogue, but it could be. It's definitely dramatic. Flung? Villain?
Did you notice that no contractions are used? The language is almost Shakespearean. "Do not kill me." "He has not hurt me." "I do not wish him to be slain."
It's eloquent. "You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt, to your mercy."
It's direct. "But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither."
If you want to write fantasy or science fiction, you must become a master of magical dialogue. How? Practice. Read lots and lots of stories in the science fiction/fantasy genres. And challenge yourself with the exercise at the end of this chapter.
In a romance, magical dialogue takes on a little different form, but it's still magical in that it transcends the way we talk to each other in normal society in this century. One reason I don't read a lot of romance novels is because many romance writers can't pull off this kind of t
ranscending and magical dialogue. They try, but it comes off as hokey rather than magical. I think Robert James Waller does an admirable job in this passage of dialogue
between his hero, Richard, and his heroine, Francesca, in The Bridges of Madison County.
He started to speak, but Francesca stopped him.
"Robert, I'm not quite finished. If you took me in your arms and carried me to your truck and forced me to go with you, I wouldn't murmur a complaint. You could do the same thing just by talking to me. But I don't think you will. You're too sensitive, too aware of my feelings, for that. And I have feelings of responsibility here.
"Yes, it's boring in its way. My life, that is. It lacks romance, eroticism, dancing in the kitchen to candlelight, and the wonderful feel of a man who knows how to love a woman. Most of all, it lacks you. But there's this damn sense of responsibility I have. To Richard, to the children. Just my leaving, taking away my physical presence, would be hard enough for Richard. That alone might destroy him.
"On top of that, and this is even worse, he would have to live the rest of his life with the whispers of the people here. 'That's Richard Johnson. His hot little Italian wife ran off with some longhaired photographer a few years back.' Richard would have to suffer that, and the children would hear the snickering of Winterset for as long as they live here. They would suffer, too. And they would hate me for it.
"As much as I want you and want to be with you and part of you, I can't rear myself away from the realness of my responsibilities. If you force me, physically or mentally, to go with you, as I said earlier, I cannot fight that. I don't have the strength, given my feelings for you. In spite of what I said about not taking the road away from you, I'd go because of my own selfish wanting of you."
Okay, who talks like that? Not anyone I know. That's pretty articulate for an off-the-cuff moment. Pretty articulate and pretty, well, magical. Magical in that all of it makes perfect sense and is said in such eloquent language that we marvel at it while at the same time being fully aware that if left to us, we'd say something banal like, "Nope, I can't hang out with you anymore. If Richard finds out, I'm dead meat." In a romance story, somehow the magical dialogue connects with the romantic in us and we can go there with Francesca. We can believe it.
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